


Hastilude

by diathlu



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Jousting, The Force is still a thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-05-13 02:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14740028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diathlu/pseuds/diathlu
Summary: But she, the girl, is stunted, wide doe-like eyes set upon the young man who feels, immediately, the way she tries to probe at him. Like Rey is stretching out her hands, he can feel her Force rise up to meet his own; curious and far far far too bright for his likening.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Quick context.
> 
> Historical, medievalish AU, but it's not gonna be completely accurate. Clearly, because I'm gonna smoosh whatever Star Wars verse planets I feel like into one and call it good.
> 
> Eventual arranged marriage.
> 
> The Force still comes into play in this AU. It's seen as a divine gift, so most who are strong in the Force tend to be royals. Rey is an exception to the rule. The Force is a little less powerful in this, in the sense that people can't lift objects and such with it, but they can communicate through it and tend to be much more in-tune with energies/emotions. More empathic, not kinetic. I'll develop this as the story moves along.

It starts with a horse.

Rather, it seems to _end_  with a horse.

Han Solo's favourite horse, named after a bird for reasons that Ben will never seek to understand. Falcon is a beautiful, creamy white Andalusian, larger than average for her breed, and still the strongest and most reliable they have, despite her old age. However, she’s been decommissioned for years, hasn’t seen battle since the Kingdom of Alderaan reclaimed the country, only after the death of Ben’s grandfather (who he loathes to have never met).  

Obligatory dinner with his family has finally ended when he slips off into the barns, scaring the young boy tending to the animals there when he kicks in the door to Falcon's stall. The sudden, violent slamming stirs a few of the other animals, a litany of snuffs and snorts and stamping hooves following, but Ben has a clear goal in mind, not at all concerned with his boisterous intrusion. The horse is stripped of her reigns, but they’re still hanging up against the back wall of her stable.

“Put these on her.” Ben snaps at the child, who has little choice but to reluctantly heed his wishes when the leather straps are thrown at his chest without ceremony. It’s the one perk of being the giant of a man that he is -- intimidation is the easiest form or persuasion. The Prince could care less about being well-liked, so long as his subjects learn to fear him enough to _respect_ him.

With little more than an empty threat to the stableboy, Ben buckles Falcon’s saddle around her middle, grabs hold of her worn reigns, and exits the barn. If only to calm the creature, he slides a rough hand along her snout and murmurs encouragingly to her, until he knows she’ll allow him to mount her without bucking. The young man shoves the tip of his boot through the stirrup and rides off into the night, but doesn't get far before he meets up with Phasma Scyre and Armitage Hux, who both look unsurprised when they note his steed.

“Shall we?” Ben casually plays off his feat, silently proud that he managed to slip right under his father's nose with his beloved pet. Weeks ago, he mentioned a jousting tournament he wanted to enter, using Falcon, and naturally Han refused. Not only is it generally seen as untoward for royals to participate in back alley jousting matches, but he also doesn't want the horse to end up injured. Despite the Prince's insistence that she wouldn't, his father's mind was clearly made up.  
  
But so was Ben's. 

The ride to the stage where the tournament would be held is a silent one, spent looking over their shoulders in hopes that no one would be following them from the castle. Armitage (Hux, he prefers, the weaselly bastard) and Phasma are nobles, and though the Prince would hesitate to call the pair his friends, they’re as close as it gets. This won’t be the first - or last - time they joust together, much to the King’s and Queen’s chagrin. While they’ve tried to keep their son from going out, he’s edging on thirty and there’s little they can do to keep a grown man from acting out on his impulses. Ben is convinced they _purposefully_  presented him with that useless, temperamental horse for his last birthday in an attempt to dissuade him from these activities. And it worked, he _tried_  to train it, until now.

“You brought my armour?” It’s a rhetorical question, as the Prince slides off of his father’s horse, turning towards Hux, who rolls his eyes as he pats the heavy satchel that his horse is carrying on its rump.

“Are you sure it’s going to fit anymore, Your Highness?” The title isn’t said out of respect, but with an underlying spite that even gets Phasma to quirk a grin. Perhaps the fact that neither of them feel _obligated_  to treat Ben like a prince is why he enjoys their company, even if their defiance and complete disregard for his status does, at times, irritate him. But not tonight -- tonight, he has a jousting tourney to win.

Whilst Ben stacks his armour on over his clothes, Phasma readies Falcon, draping a red and black caparison over her body before resituating the saddle over it. The horse looks _wrong_ , all of her stark white put up against the prince’s chosen, dark colours. Even his protection boasts a shiny, black sheen painted over the metal, which moves with surprising grace despite how heavy and bulky it looks when clad over his broad frame.

“Intimidating.” Phasma comments, and means it despite the mocking tone of her voice. The woman keeps Falcon in a state of calm while her rider climbs back aboard with the added weight of his armour. Ben swears that the soft huff the animal lets out sounds satisfied, as if the old girl missed being in the middle of all the action. Han was a fool to deprive her of it, keeping her locked up when his son would have willingly taken on the burden of caring for her. Certainly over that of the unreliable beast they bestowed upon him in the guise of a _gift_.

Only after pulling his sleek, black helmet over his head, do he and the horse trot out, passed the scoring judge and up to the lance giver. The one he’s handed is red - _fitting_  - and Ben gives it a twirl before he positions it underneath his arm. A smirk fits itself upon his lips underneath his mask as he points the iron tip straight at his competition.

“Kylo Ren,” The event’s announcer calls out, the pseudonym that the Prince uses to avoid detection whilst competing. It’s been roughly a year since his last jousting match (not including practices, which he’s had plenty of in preparation for now). The horse he’d been riding back then came down with an illness due to an infection brought on by injury and, well, she didn’t make it much longer than a week before it felt kinder to put her down. He’d raised her himself.

It’s the sheer, brutal force that gives Ben - no, _Kylo_  - the rush he craves. The moment Falcon’s hooves start beating against the leveled-out dirt, his heart hammers with the sound. Leather gloves squelch as he tightens his grip, and although it’s only seconds, when his lance comes into contact with the other man’s shoulder, time slows. With a grunt, Kylo is only jutted out of place by the painful pressure crashing into his shoulder. Pushing forward, the ash wood of his own lance snaps, but along with it the other man falls to the ground. Falcon’s canter slows into a trot once more, and he all but tosses his broken lance at the receiver on the other end.

“So, who’s next?” The helmet muffles the natural, deep timbre of his tone, making it come off much more gruff than without it. If he could, he’d remove it so his opponent could _see_  that he was just taken down by the crowned Prince.

Unfortunately, even with his connection to the divine Force, he couldn't have anticipated the outcome of his forth, consecutive match. Were he not so prideful, perhaps he would have noticed the way Falcon began to tire after only the second round. This time, when his opponent’s lance snaps, a sharp split of wood digs forward and lodges itself into the meat of her shoulder. Immediately, she falters and falls to the ground in a mess of long limbs, braying in pain as Kylo has to squeeze himself out from underneath her weight.

Nor could he have anticipated the fact that the stableboy, not taking his threats seriously, went straight to the King and Queen and informed them of just what their son was doing.

That night, he receives the usual lecture from his father, which is more of a scolding than anything. It's nothing Ben hasn't heard before, and so long as he avoids his mother's disappointed gaze, he can get away without feeling too guilty about his thoughtless actions.

“The horse isn't _dead_." Ben sneers, posture tense as he folds his arms over his chest.

"That's not the point!" His father tends to yell at him more than he actually speaks to him these days, something the castle's subjects have grown both used and weary to.

"Then what is the point? If my horse wasn't so useless, perhaps I could have brought him along, instead." Star, the horse in question, has always been too quick-tempered for Ben to tame. The Queen claims it's his impatience that leads to his inability to connect with the creature. Maybe, he always counters, they should just turn him to the wilds and let him go.

"Just," a sigh of frustration leaves the King. "Leave. I need to think about your punishment." The words fall on deaf ears, as Ben's parents have a tenancy not to follow through on disciplining him. Or perhaps they simply haven't been harsh enough yet. That's their problem; they're too soft.

The Prince turns on his heel, dark cape dramatically flowing behind him as he strides out of the throne room and in the direction of his chambers. Falcon's injuries would be worth it, had they won out the last match rather than pulling a draw, but it turns out that the horse is just as useless as Star. Is it heartless of him to be angrier about the humiliation that follows such a loss than he is about the state of his father's horse? Ben doesn't like to spend long pondering his personal morality -- it never ends well. Ask the blacksmith, who spends half of his time mending swords that Ben has mangled one way or another.

 

\---

 

"Your uncle is will be arriving later today. He's bringing along his ward." Leia informs Ben roughly two weeks after his most recent transgression. Once upon a time, he looked up to Luke, an astrologer strong in the Force, but he hadn't been allowed to apprentice underneath his uncle like he'd wanted to when he was younger. This led to a distance between the two, and Ben can't help feeling bitter to this day. Learning that he's taken on a new student only adds to the venom he feels towards the man.

"I suppose I'll have to greet them like a proper Prince?" The question is heavy with sarcasm, as he already knows the answer. Despite his parents’ efforts to make him take the stage as a well-adjusted member of the royal family, it’s no secret that he’s teetering dangerously on the edge of becoming the tyrant that his grandfather was.

That evening, Ben shows up predictably late, planting himself next to his mother's throne with his gloved hands clasped tightly behind his back. Mere moments later, the doors to the vast, colourfully ornate hall open. Ben looks entirely out of place here, with his rigid posture and  narrowed eyes. Everything about him is dark, including the gaze fixed upon his uncle and the young woman accompanying him as they all but glide along the deep, blue rug that leads up to the throne steps. Both King and Queen stand to meet them, and when the pair moves to kneel, Leia lets out a laugh.

"Please, you know there's no need for such formalities." The woman rolls her eyes, but her smile is warm in the way only a true matronly figure can achieve. "You're my brother, for star's sake. And you," she turns her undivided attention to the girl, expression softening as she holds out both hands, "must be Rey? It's a pleasure to finally meet you." While Ben's mother greets her guests, his father close behind, the Prince remains immovable and unsociable as he lingers, still next to the thrones.

But she, the girl, is stunted, wide doe-like eyes set upon the young man who feels, _immediately_ , the way she tries to probe at him. Like Rey is stretching out her hands, he can feel her Force rise up to meet his own; curious and far far _far_  too bright for his likening. It’s akin to his mother’s light, but feels infinitely more _blinding_  and for a split second, Ben loses his composure and stumbles back. The sound of his heels clicking against the marble gain his uncle’s attention, and snaps his ward out of her daze. As soon as her searching aura retracts, his own flares up, dark and muddled and angrier than he’s felt in a long time.

“Yes, sorry.” Rey’s laugh comes out like a nervous, little bell as she reaches out and allows the Queen to clasp her hand between her own wrinkled pair. They’re warm like she could have never imagined, and immediately she feels this woman’s soul, old and weary, but still _fiery_. Fiery like the glimmer in her husbands eyes, like the invisible flames lashing out from her son. They both feel it -- his wrath as he refuses to budge an inch, jaw working as he teeths at the inside of his cheek. “I’m Rey.” She finally says, her lips pulling into a small, sheepish smile.

As soon as the Prince dips forward, Luke places a hand on his ward’s arm, almost protectively.

“If it isn’t my nefarious nephew, Ben.” The old man attempts to jest, but it only serves to harden the boy’s glare.

“I’m leaving.” Ben announces, suddenly, and it’s as though he’s doing his best to avoid Rey, to toe around her light, but it’s all-encompassing, and it’s only making his blood roar in defiance. Standing in the same room as her is too much, he _needs_  to centre himself before he can face her again, refuses to allow himself to be lesser in the presence of some girl he’s sure his uncle scooped up off the streets in favour of _him_. The Prince’s lips tremble as he grinds his molars together and sweeps passed the small group, passed the guards at the throne room doors who can do little but allow him to pass as he blows open the heavy doors with surprising ease.

Ben Solo wasn’t prepared for any of this, not in the least.

Even when the doors close behind him, he can feel her light, like tiny embers left in her wake, warm and smouldering and less overwhelming now that he’s not directly in her presence. If this is how it’s going to be, he might as well show himself to the wine cellar, where he has the feeling he’ll be spending most of his time during the entirety of his uncle’s visit. Something about the girl doesn’t sit right with him, and it makes him _sick_  with vitriol. Something strong should help wash down the bile crawling up the back of his throat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to repost this, whoops. (:
> 
> Updates happen, just very very slowly.

The body of the carriage shakes as its wooden wheels trundle along the stony path towards the Solo-Organa castle. They - Rey and Luke - have been travelling for days, and it’s the furthest she’s trekked since her teacher plucked her from the deserts of Jakku and brought her to the rainy, little island of Ahch-To. When the Queen sent for her brother, Rey remembers his initial refusal, felt his guilt though she still doesn’t understand it (he is determined not to give any of her prodding questions an answer). In kind, she doesn’t understand her own trepidation, which crawls under her skin the moment she catches sight of the looming castle. While evening, she can still see how different the stony citadel looks from past illustrations -- no longer is it surrounded by the high, daunting walls that were constructed during the rule of one Lord Vader. An effort to put on a more welcoming air, she thinks, though doesn’t feel welcome here at all.

 

\---

 

Four years ago, a scrawny brunette finds herself scuttling through bone-dry mineral deposits in search of anything of value. Once, there may have been a bed of water running through the sands, a well, though Jakku has been stripped of most resources, leaving it the forgotten wasteland that it is. Rey is fifteen, and she returns with little more than a pan of flecks that may or may not be gold. At least copper, or some sort of metal, she hopes. Unkar Plutt has a stone and mud hut in the middle of the outpost. The structure is one of the few remnants of the small city that once was here; the buildings have long since crumbled, ravaged by sharp winds and scorching heat. Atop the rubble, everything has been replaced with little more than holey, cloth tents, though the young woman lives just outside of the colony, in a dilapidated hut of her own finding.

Silently, the scavenger slides the pan across a wooden table, towards the vile man. Part of her always wonders how he manages to be so fat while everyone else can count their ribs. Equally as silent, he passes her a wrap containing one, small roll and a handful of seeds.

“Yesterday this was worth two rolls.” Rey argues, though hastily ties the cloth shut and grabs for it before the man decides he doesn’t appreciate her defiant nature and takes it away. It would not be the first time to happen.

“You aren’t the only mouth I have to feed out here. Off with you, girl.” Plutt dismisses her, and Rey purses her lips.

 _Girl_ , she hates that, hates feeling as though the complete disregard for her name further perpetuates the fact that she is nothing. Just a blip on the map, one of many forgotten children a left behind amidst the Organa’s most unwanted territory. The desert isn’t even worth warring over, is nearly unlivable, save Niima. Even then, it is only a matter of years before the small population here dies off entirely, leaving nothing but bones and dust in its wake.

That evening, Rey carves a tiny, crooked tick into the stone wall of her makeshift home. It’s only temporary, or so she’s always told herself, lying in indefinite wait for the parents who left her here, horse’s hooves kicking sand up in her crying face as she begged them to come back. Each tally signifies a day since then, though she’s long since lost count of how many, exactly, she’s made. Sun setting, the young woman sits up against an outer wall, watching with one hand shielding her eyes, the other lifting the stale roll to her lips.

 _Maybe tomorrow_ , she thinks, just as she does every night.

 

\---

 

It’s autumn, heading into winter. The season of death, Rey remembers Luke telling her, and she can feel it all around her, within the Force, within the old elm trees scattered around the castle grounds, long rid of their yellowed leaves. Why they chose such a dismal time to travel, she will never know, though griped about it to her teacher one night, when the tavern they stayed in was so drafty that the chill seeped through her pores. Hailing from the deserts of Jakku, where every season is a variation of _hot_  or _hotter_ , the young woman still has a difficult time with the cold, although she doesn’t hate it. On more than one occasion Rey has been caught standing out in the rains of Ahch-To, relishing in the cool shower because such a phenomena never happened in the desert dunes.

Death is nothing new to Rey, and she knows that come spring, the world will wake from its slumber and bloom again. Something else has Rey on alert, the moment the horses trot through the palace’s front gates. It’s dark and pacing, living although she'd hesitate to call it human, encompassing the castle in such energy that she swears she can feel it seething, afflicting almost everything it touches.

“Stars…” Luke mutters, and when Rey glances over he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, both exasperated and heavy with concern. Knowing that she isn’t the only one affected by this weighty tension is reassuring enough to assuage her for the time being, and so she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, searches through the black mist until she finds it -- a point of light. Strong, but not nearly as practised as Luke; his sister, the Queen, Rey realises, and is comforted in the fact that she isn’t the one giving off such foul energy.

The carriage lurches to a stop, and she’s pulled from her meditative state, suddenly nervous for the meeting to come. Although she was never told the specifics, she knows that they’re here on family business. Family that she isn’t a part of, and thus she can’t help feeling like an intruder, like Luke was only obligated to bring her along because he didn’t want to leave her alone on the island for months on end. Time and time again, she insisted that she would be fine, that she could handle being alone, but the man was insistent (and honestly, there’s a tiny part of her that’s glad he was).

The young woman, only just nineteen, bustles out of the carriage, pushing open the door so suddenly that the young knight on the other side, waiting to lend her a hand, stumbles back. Rey doesn’t have to see underneath his mask to feel that he’s startled, at first, then then amused, so they share a sheepish laugh once she apologises. It’s not as though she’s ever been treated like anything close to royalty, and she doesn’t expect to be. Technically, Luke is a prince, but he certainly doesn’t act like one, and she can’t say that he ever displays an extensive knowledge on what it means to be chivalrous. Not that she minds; in fact, she would feel far less comfortable in his presence if he treated her like some sort of delicate flower when she’s more of a cactus. Or perhaps a tumbleweed trying to find her way.

The stone walls of the castle only seem to amplify that deep-seated darkness, and as they approach the source of the energy (earning her teacher an incredulous look, because he’s warned her that the Force isn’t all balance and light) she can tell that it’s had years, _decades_  to fester. When the two tall, heavy doors to the throne room are pushed open, Rey doesn’t hear the guards announce their arrival to the King and Queen. Nostrils flare, and she hesitates to step in behind Luke, but drags herself forward despite the fact that it feels like she’s physically being pushed away. The young woman fights it, light against dark, surprised by how powerful the other’s energy is despite how untamed it feels.

Only after attempting to kneel does her gaze finds the Prince, whose eyes are as dark as the aura he radiates. _It’s him_  she realises before, completely instinctively, reaching out. Even as the Queen greets her by name, Rey finds herself stuck in place, trying to feel for and understand why the immovable man’s - no, _boy’s_ \- Force feels so sick and wrong. And then, he’s fighting her, and it feels like a whip across her skin when the dark lashes out against her. The sound of his heels, sharp against the marble, bring Rey back to the scene in front of her.

“Yes, sorry.” Rey laughs nervously, suddenly aware of how small she feels in the presence of the King and Queen, of their son who’s giving off such a strong ambience that her own is momentarily quelled. The woman’s hands are as old as her soul, but by no means weak, and Rey can see embers smouldering in her eyes even after years spent witnessing and at the head of war. Times are much more favourable for her kingdom now, but there’s still something weighing on her, something that concerns her far more than any neighbouring country or extremist group threatening to rise up.

“I'm Rey.” The young apprentice adds, and in that moment the Prince bobs forward, until Luke has a protective hand on her arm. When introduced (because clearly he isn't going to do it himself), Rey’s gaze flickers between uncle and nephew, respectively pulled between concern for her and an intense jealousy that snaps at her like a beast on a leash that isn't quite long enough to reach. Never has she felt something so volatile and unsettling; the closest to such unadulterated anger that she's ever felt is something buried within herself, but she has _control_ over it.

Ben’s exit is the only response in which his uncle receives, and the entire time it’s as though he’s treading around the group of wary onlookers, until he finds the doors and pushes them open in a flourish. When they close, Rey can still feel his darkness through the cracks, festering and ever-growing, and it makes her feel physically ill. The blood has all but left her body and she feels cold; even the King spares her a worried glance.

“That boy,” He, Han she’s learned, sighs in defeat as he looks from the young woman to the dual doors. “I’ll show Rey to her room. You catch up with your brother.” He then offers, apparently seeing her need to distance herself from the throne room, where the remnants of Ben’s awful aura are still swirling around in the air.

Rey and Han take their leave with a few parting words, and head towards a smaller door on the right-hand side of the thrones. For this, she's thankful because it means she won’t have to wade through anymore negative, leftover energy. The King isn’t in touch with the Force she realises as she walks only a step behind him, which surprises her since she was always led to believe that all royals were. Not only that, but his son is so _strong_  and she can’t help wondering why he isn’t the one apprenticing under his uncle. The knowledge that she won’t get a straight answer isn’t going to stop her from asking Luke about it later.

“Sorry about Ben. He’s a little -- well -- you’ve seen it now.” Han explains with a series of vague hand gestures that manage to come across as completely accurate.

“He’s intense.” And Rey fears a world where a man like him comes to power, has experienced a fraction of the tyranny and injustice he’d bring to the throne through Unkar Plutt. And all for what? Ben’s parents created a legacy after bringing about the peace the kingdom now relishes in, and he would no doubt throw it all away. Everyone knows the stories; Leia, Luke, and Han came together in an unlikely trio and lead the resistance against Lord Vader, Leia and Luke’s _own father_. To a lost child trapped in the middle of the windy desert, tales of daring triumph always stuck with her far more than fantasies about princesses and dragons and knights. They gave her hope that someday someone would fight for her, too.

“That’s one way to put it.” Han snorts in reply, and Rey doesn’t have to see his face to know that he’s rolling his eyes. While Leia seems to harbour more concern for her son, the King feels angrier, but the anger isn’t only directed at Ben. He’s angry with himself, too.

“Here’s your room.” The statement pulls her from her musings, and she comes to a halt in front of the door Han is gesticulating at with a shuffle of her dusty boots. “You look exhausted,” and she is, “if you need anything, Luke is just to your right and we’re at the end of the hall.” Rey can only nod as the door is pushed open to reveal a vast canopy bed, complete with sheer hangings, thick quilts and furs. It’s more than she’s ever had, even on Ahch-To.

With a muttered “thank you” and a dip of her head, Rey stumbles through the threshold. The King, who in that moment doesn’t come off overtly kingly, offers a dismissive wave and turns on his heels, only to part back in the direction from whence they came.

Although tempted to collapse into bed right away, she can’t help but survey her surroundings for a moment longer. There’s a window, not large but larger than the one in her hut back on the rainy island she now calls home, and this one has hinged shutters. Being that it’s nearly winter and edging on late evening, Rey decides against throwing them open and instead moves to throw open the expansive wardrobe standing up against one of the walls. It’s expectedly empty, but it does allow ample space for her to wrestle her shawl around one of the hangers inside. Then, she carelessly kicks off her boots and drops her grey tunic to the floor, revealing the leggings and breast bands underneath.

Upon catching her reflection in the vanity mirror, a faint streak of dirt smudged on her right cheek, it occurs to her that she should have asked Luke if she should wear something a little _nicer_. Then again, he’s in his typical, brown robes so their attire must not have been on his list of concerns. The stone flooring is cold under her socked feet as Rey finally drops herself into bed, unable to stop herself from groaning at just how soft the mattress feels under her weary body. Despite being used to lumpier, firmer bedding, it’s entirely too easy to forget about the broody Prince and give in to sleep, something she hasn’t had much of over she and Luke’s long travels.

Until a sharp shatter rips through her dreams, crumbling the mirage of a happy, faceless family and the balmy desert sun. Bedding pools at her waist as she shoots up, breathing hard due to the shock of such a rude awakening. Initially, Rey wonders if the vase of dried flowers has fallen from the bedside table, but upon seeing it safe and in-tact, she slips out from under the thick covers. Shuddering against the sudden change in temperature, she scrambles to pull on her tunic and boots (without lacing them).

Had she been more awake, she would have picked up on it before opening the door, would have expected Ben to be the one standing there before the pile of glass shards between them. Thank god she had the foresight to put on her boots.

“Wh -- What?” Rey questions, scrubbing at her tired eyes as she strives for something a little more eloquent. “What do you think you’re doing?” Hastily, she adds onto the question to stall the Prince as he turns tail and attempts walk away from her, but she isn’t about to let that happen without receiving some sort of explanation. Ben takes a step and then stops, leather-clad fists clenching at his sides. It doesn’t take a genius (or a Force user) to see the warble in his step, to smell the wine clinging to the glass on the floor.

When he doesn’t say anything, Rey boldly decides to go on.

“You seem to have some sort of problem with Luke and I being here -- ” is as far as she gets before she’s interrupted.

“ _It’s you_.” Ben says accusingly, voice deep and thick with alcohol as he spares her a glower over his shoulder. Rey flounders a moment, but refuses to allow his piercing gaze hinder her further.

“I don’t expect us to be _friends_ , but this,” she motions towards the shards, “is childish. Clean it up.” Because while she would, she shouldn’t have to feel like the mess is somehow her responsibility. And yet the Prince has the audacity to chortle before looking away from her and starting down the hall once more.

“That’s not my job, _girl._ My mother employs help for a reason.” Is his answer, to which _Rey_ feels her own anger flare up. These emotions she oft tries to suppress, but something about Ben is bringing them out in her; and now she can feel the way her flames rage up against his, thinks he’ll stop though he only seems to speed up. Just who does he think he is? A prince, certainly, but Rey doesn’t think that being royalty gives him an excuse to act like he's above anyone. How did such a _monster_  come from Han and Leia?

A door at the opposite end of the long hall, far off from even the King’s and Queen’s chambers, slams shut and startles Rey out of her short bout of anger. Sucking in a deep breath, the young woman steadies herself, until it no longer feels like the solid ground beneath her feet is quaking. Leaving this glass here for someone else to find doesn’t sit well with her, so she disappears back into her room, only to reappear with a basin and a dry cloth that she found on one of the bedside tables. Careful not to cut her hands, she brushes up all of the shards and decides to seek out somewhere safe to dispose of the Prince’s rage-fuelled mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on Twitter! @nsfwars


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fimger guns*
> 
> This was totally unbetaed and I'm dyslexic af so. Sorry.

Heat sings through Ben's veins, but it's not the same uncomfortable heat that he felt when he first locked eyes with that girl. Luke's new apprentice; _Rey_. It still burns to know that his own uncle has chosen some destitute child over him, even if it's been years since the man refused to take him under his wing. The Prince is propped up atop a hollow barrel, nearly empty wine glass hanging loose in the slack grip of his fingers. Even the chilly solitude of the cellar fails to bring him the sense of peace that it usually does. Drink after drink of his favourite wine from the vineyards of Naboo and he’s still teeming with agitation, finds himself pacing as he downs what's left before the glass is careening carelessly to the floor, shards only to be tread upon as he grabs for another bottle.

Nary a moment of the young man's life has been spent without that ever-present dark cloud looming over him — something even those who know nothing of the Force can feel when he enters the room. He has faint memories of being an exuberant, rambunctious child running through the halls of the family vacation home, nestled along a vast lake in the very country where the wine he's uncorking is from. Ben is no fool, knows the images are just that. _Memories,_  a time long passed, a time before his uncle turned him away, when his mother and father had more than a few spare moments for him. Once he reached his early teens, old enough to be considered a man and yet not quite old enough to take on a man's duties, he's turned into himself. Even with Hux and Phasma by his side, he feels alone. And now, with this girl free to roam the halls of what will one day be _his_ castle, the panging in his chest is that much more unbearable, like she and all her blistering light only amplifies his own dark.

So why he ends up at her door, he does not know. The wine led him here; drunken, clumsy feet traversing the staircase and stumbling down the hall until he's there. Rey is sleeping. Ben closes his eyes and it's like he can feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest, her mind restless even as she's surrounded by all of these comforts. It's something she's never had, and he thinks that perhaps it makes her more uncomfortable than she lets on because she believes she's out of place here.

Except, she isn't, and that's what the Prince envies the most. Both parents welcomed her with open arms and more warmth than he's felt from them in what feels like decades. Luke found himself an apprentice with astounding magnetism, a young girl who quite literally lights up the room when she walks in — albeit for Ben, it feels like a wildfire licking at his skin.

He doesn't register the bottle leaving his hand, still half-full, but he sees and hears the glass as it smashes against the wood of her arched door. Even more prominent, the shock that runs through him when Rey is roused from her sleep, as if it is his own, and only moments later she's standing in front of him. While the wood hadn't been the best barricade, at least it acted as some sort of wall between the pair, but now he feels she and her bleary confusion with nothing in the way of a filter. The first question she asks ( _What do you think you're doing?_ ) all but goes over Ben's head as he turns away, until she mentions Luke and he feels something snap.

“It's _you_ .” It's _Rey_ he has a problem with, the nobody his foolish uncle must have plucked off the streets. Perhaps he bought her off her parents, felt the need to steal some poor child from her family after turning away his own. The sight of her alone makes him sick with rage, and she has the audacity to call him, _the crowned Prince_ , childish?

“That’s not my job, _girl_ .” Ben emphasises, because it seems that she's forgotten her place. “My mother employs help for a reason.” The woman believes in paid work, refuses to take on slaves like her father before her had. It may just be her kindness that has given their kingdom the reputation of being soft. Full of politicians rather than warriors; something he will change the moment he is granted his rightful title as the next King.

It would seem that Rey doesn't appreciate being cut off. Even her anger is bright and pure, nothing like his own tainted wrath. There's purpose behind each and every one of her emotions, a clear reason as to why she _feels_ , and Ben isn't used to being in the face of such steadfast self-possession when he doesn't understand his own tempestuous heart. The heavy door of his room, far down the hall, slams shut behind him and cuts her off. Not entirely, but enough that the Prince is able to shake himself of her Force.

 

\---

 

In the solar, a room with tall windows in the path of the sunrise (though it is late into the night by now), a hearth, warm woods, and a high ceiling, a pair of siblings sit across from one another. The Queen and her brother, Luke who was meant to ascend to the throne had he not chosen another path, have already traded their niceties. The letter she sent to him had been vague, but her plea of _I fear it is nearly too late for my son_ made his blood run cold because he knows what such powerful blood is capable of. Ben could bring ruin to this country, to many others, it's the very reason why he refused to train the boy in the first place. But it seems he was wrong, though the stubborn man isn't so quick to admit to as much. At least not aloud, and certainly not when he'd rather believe that taking on a different apprentice had been for the best.

“I did not summon you here as a teacher. Only as his uncle.” Leia states with a pointed look, threatens to make Luke feel something like shame prickle at the back of his neck. Being twins, they're attuned to one another in ways that those who have not shared a womb could never come understand. Despite Leia not being as strong with the divine Force, when together they are as in sync as the twin suns.

“I'm fairly sure that boy hasn't thought of me as his blood since I turned him away.” Luke states blandly, leaning back in his cushioned chair, a comfort not found on the craggy cliffs of Ahch-To. The tone of his voice doesn't detract  from the deep affection that he feels towards his nephew, but it's muddled with guilt and remorse.

“That doesn't change the fact that you are,” the Queen says sternly, leaning forward in her seat. “Ben turned thirty this passed autumn. It's nearly time Han and I retire our titles, but he's shown no interest in taking a wife.”

“And you think that might be what he needs.” Her brother finishes the statement, quirking a brow.

Just then, an unsure voice comes from around the corner, the owner belonging to his apprentice with a bowl cradled carefully between her hands. The a scent of wine wafts from her, but Luke knows she doesn't imbibe.

“Excuse me,” Rey interrupts, bowing her head towards the Queen politely, “I, ah, wasn't entirely sure where I should dispose of this…” She followed the remnants of her teacher's Force in order to lead herself here.

“What do you have there?” Leia asks with a strained smile, and the younger woman knows that she has walked in on an important conversation. Face still turned down, she affixes her sight on the bowl, green shards with blood-red wine clinging to them. As red as the Prince's rage, she thinks.

“Glass that I found in the hall.” She doesn't know why she only tells a half-truth, but she does and Luke regards her with scrutiny.

“Was it my son?” The woman asks this time, and Rey sees no reason to lie any further as she slowly nods _yes_ . “I see. You may put it on the table.” Leia waves a hand in the direction, and Rey wordlessly follows, setting it down and taking a step back, as if to leave. “And why don't you sit with us?” She then offers, stunning the young apprentice, who does as requested nonetheless.

Is she in trouble? Rey has only just met the Queen, but doesn't sense any ill will, only the faint beat of disappointment and exasperation. Her wicker chair yawns under her weight as she shifts awkwardly, peeking up at the pair of siblings only occasionally. To be twins is considered sacred, and to be twins strong with the Force? It's a blessing unlike any other, a bond willed forth by the universe itself. Why had Luke left the castle, only to seclude himself on a stormy little island, lands and waters away? Does it have something to do with _Ben_? Her mind is abuzz with questions, and when the Queen laughs she looks up with all of the confusion to mirror her thoughts.

“Your son should not be king.” Rey blurts out through her nervousness, immediately regretting being so brash with the woman when she feels her astonishment, paired with Luke shaking his head. But once that fades, there's a sense of agreement, something she realises that Leia has known for a long time now. Ben _is_ the reason they're here. “He's childish and angry. I don't understand. I've never felt someone so - ” the apprentice pauses, and the two others wait for her to finish her thought. “So full of conflict and rage.” Rage, Rey suspects only once she says it, that stems from this inner conflict of his.

The Queen says nothing for a long moment, regards her brother's young ward with curiosity and, perhaps, a flicker of hope. One doesn't have to be strong with the Force to see it in the woman's eyes, aged and yet still so youthful. Not like Ben's, whose give the impression of someone from ancient times long, long passed. Befittingly out of place.

“It's been a long time since anyone other than my husband has spoken of my son in such a way, to my face.” It would be foolish to believe that the townspeople don't notice the young man's antics, don't whisper amongst themselves about the monster who is to come into the crown.

“I'm sorry.” Rey sputters, face growing red as she turns her eyes towards the fine, decorative carpet underfoot.

“Don't be.” Leia waves a dismissive hand. “It is nothing I don't already know.” There's pride in her tone, and it leaves Rey feeling oddly warm and fuzzy because even her own teacher doesn't often display such exult during her lessons. Then, she smiles and sits up a little straighter, all perfect poise and elegance. “Tomorrow morning I'll have the King show you around the grounds. The stables.”

Realising she's being dismissed, Rey comes to an abrupt stand. “Thank you, my Lady.” She dips her head respectfully and then begins to scuttle out of the room. They must think she's out of earshot, must not realise how echoey the halls of the castle are, because she can hear Luke say three words that, for some reason, make her hair stand on end.

“Not my apprentice.” The muffled statement comes, and she hurries her pace, back up to her room. Remarkably, Rey doesn't get lost on the way, and before long she's collapsing back onto the feather bed. The words resound through her mind, and she wonders what they mean. _Had_ she done something wrong after all? Even upon speaking out of term, she hadn't felt any distemper from the woman, but then again Luke says she still has much to learn. Maybe she misread the situation, maybe they're going to execute her for slander, maybe she's overthinking this. Queen Organa is a kind woman, and it makes sense that she and her brother would discuss his affairs, which include his apprentice.

But Luke and Leia aren't playing catch up. The man regards his sister seriously, jaw tight as he notes her peak of interest in the girl who left the room only moments earlier. Considering the topic they'd been on, he can only imagine what's running through the woman's mind.

“Not Rey. I can't subject her to your -- your son.” The last two words are said delicately, Luke wincing at the slip of tongue as he speaks too quickly to retract the statement.

“I don't blame _you_ for how he's turned out,” it's a number of factors that have snowballed into the man that is Ben Solo-Organa, “but he needs a woman with a good head on her shoulders.” And it was never her intention for this woman to be Rey, but they both have to admit that something happened in that throne room earlier that evening. The push and pull of dark and light, the way Rey effortlessly (and subconsciously, Leia suspects) stood her ground against the Prince's Force. “I brought you here to help choose a bride, and you brought Rey.” The Queen leans forward and reaches for her brother's hands urgingly. “Let us see what unfolds between them. I have a feeling about this.” And the woman has an aptitude for being right.

“I should have left her on Ahch-To.” Luke sighs, but his hands find his sister's and squeeze. “You're my blood, but you're also the Queen. I cannot say no, but I cannot promise that my ward will be happy about this arrangement. She's like fire.” He huffs a half-hearted laugh, clearly not happy, but not objecting despite the fact that deep down he knows Leia would respect his wishes if he were completely against the idea.

Gratitude flows through the Force, and the pair part with tentative smiles. Rey doesn't strike the Queen as the type of woman who will simply roll over in the face of her son's anger, and that's exactly what Ben needs. Someone strong; perhaps even stronger than he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Twitter! @nsfwars
> 
> Feedback always appreciated. (:

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter @nsfwars. :*


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